


Golden Tones

by chronicle23



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23717578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicle23/pseuds/chronicle23
Summary: Six years of trying to put puzzles together that were already missing pieces.
Relationships: Britta Perry/Jeff Winger
Comments: 20
Kudos: 89





	Golden Tones

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Community for a long time but missed the last few seasons when they aired. I was so happy when I saw that it was on Hulu and did a whole series rewatch during the coronavirus shutdown, finally getting to the last seasons I'd missed back in the day. I'd always been Jeff/Britta when I was watching it back then, and of course felt cheated by the time I got to the finale. But then I rewatched the series again (and again, who am I kidding? It is just such a good show), and I felt there were so many little overlooked signs and implications embedded throughout the whole series. How are these two not supposed to end up together in some form or another? That's my take anyway, and here's how I saw it unfold. Post S6 finale.

It didn’t feel real until they were sitting at the table alone. This was it. The last two screw ups staying in the same place; the last two twenty-somethings inevitably moving on.

“I guess it’s just you and me now,” Jeff said, scotch in hand. He looked older. Tired. Sad? No, defeated, maybe? In any case, these were things Britta didn’t usually equate with Jeff Winger. She couldn’t shake her own feelings of despondence, though. Maybe it was just the setting; two middle-aged people drinking alone after all their friends had left. Abed would compare it to some movie examining the mediocrity of life.

“Kinda fitting,” she replied. “That’s how it all started. You finally did it. They proved to be un-tutorable after all,” she joked.

He laughed. “That was forever ago. Back when I thought I had a shot.”

Britta didn’t know if he meant at her, or at life, or at both. It had been a long time, that was true. Six years of trying to put puzzles together that were already missing pieces. She had picked a terrible major. She was a bartender. She was moving the rest of her things into a studio apartment on the very edge of town this weekend. She still really didn’t know what she was doing whenever she was hanging out with Jeff. They had been briefly engaged last year? But didn’t ever talk about it? That kind of thing.

“Well, you and me both. Pretty lame, right? I mean, what are we doing? At least you have a job that kinda relates to your degree,” she said, taking another sip of vodka.

“This may come as a shock, but I actually have no idea what I’m doing. I’m supposed to teach three whole summer classes and Annie is not in any of them. Who’s actually gonna make sure I teach?”

The word _Annie_ hung in the air for a minute before she answered. Jeff hadn’t told her, but Britta knew about their long farewell. Abed had nailed it and called Annie out when the three of them were organizing boxes into piles in the apartment. She hated how much it bothered her, but also hated how much it _didn’t_ bother Annie and that it was clearly now bothering Jeff. It was ridiculous; she was pushing 40 and he was already there.

“Well, guess you’ll just have to get it together,” she finally answered, “for reals this time.” She half-smiled and downed the rest of her drink. It was getting late, she actually didn’t have to work tomorrow, and didn’t want to set herself up for a day off of regrets. Jeff had on his thinking eyes, and his thinking eyes usually led to _situations._

Britta was trying her very best this summer to not be a screw-up. She was tired of watching other people move forward while she seemed to always be stuck in the same place, going nowhere, making the same bad choices over and over. She hated to admit it, but hanging out with Jeff was one of those bad choices. She liked to pretend it wasn’t, but it was becoming harder and harder to do that. They had fun together, they definitely understood each other, and they knew some deep shit about each other, but they never communicated. Every time something might have turned into a real conversation, it ended with yelling and misplaced anger. And sometimes sex. As Vaughn would say, it was toxic.

“Guess you’re right,” he agreed, returning her smile. His eyes were sultry and dark. “Round dos?” he suggested.

“I can’t. Gotta finish packing tomorrow and I think what I really need right now is to probably just go to bed.”

“Well, when am I gonna see you? Now I won’t even see you in the fall,” Jeff said dramatically.

“Okay, one, it’s 2015 and we both have working phones. Two, yes, you might.”

Jeff raised his brows.

“Okay, well, I know it took me like five years to get this degree but… Greendale is starting a grad program this fall for social work. If I can pass the GRE this summer, the dean said I’m in. I think I’m gonna do it… well, try to do it.”

“Britta.” He looked at her in a way that made her almost want to look away. “That is amazing.”

“Thanks, Jeff,” she said, offering an honest smile. “I had kinda already convinced myself that I can’t pass the test. But what the hell? What else do I have going on?”

“You are so right. That makes so much sense.” Jeff had a faraway look in his eyes now, and Britta wasn’t sure where they were going. He was definitely happy for her, but there was something else, too. Something creeping up to the surface. She got the sudden feeling that she should leave.

“Uh… it does?” she offered hesitantly.

“Yes. You can’t be afraid of change. Change is inspiring. Let it inspire you to do the things you have always wanted to do.” He took her hand in his. She allowed it, for now.

“Winger speech? Thought those were only for crowds? It’s just us here,” Britta said, almost laughing.

“No, Winger move. If you can do it, so can I. I’m making a change. I’m going with Annie.”

And that was the beginning.

* * *

Britta didn’t remember much of the rest of that night. She had told Jeff she was happy for him, went home to the nearly empty apartment, and allowed herself one last night of old Britta. There was no one left to tell her to shut up, so she played her music as loud as she wanted (until the downstairs neighbors banged on the floor), finished off the very last of her weed stash, and ate the emergency packets of buttered noodles Abed had left for her. _Toxic, toxic, toxic,_ she repeated to herself, like some kind of mantra.

After that, she curled up in bed. Annie’s old bed. Thankfully, she wasn’t taking it. It was getting junked with the rest of the furniture in the apartment. She had new stuff being delivered to the studio, thanks to the tips she’d been getting since she actually started being serious about work.

It was warming up, nearing the end of May, and it meant leaving the windows open at night. A hot breeze made the curtains dance. It smelled like car exhaust. Neighbors were laughing, yelling. Somewhere, a raccoon knocked over a trashcan.

* * *

She wasn’t sure when he came back. It was mid-July. Everything had been brushed with golden tones. She’d moved into her new apartment, a studio over a garage. She liked her landladies. Like, a lot. Even if they were distant friends of her parents and giving her a sweet deal on rent. Their names were Jean and Nancy and they were 75. Jean smoked a lot of menthols and Nancy tended her tiger lilies and they let Britta have run of the small backyard as long as she agreed to mow it.

Britta spent a lot of her time out there. She found a patio set at a secondhand store and placed it on the little tiled area near her back steps. She studied out there and lazed around when she wasn’t working. It was summer; tips were good. She was keeping her head above the water, for the most part. She didn’t have money to burn, but she had plenty of time. But, she really didn’t have any friends, she had come to realize. She ended up with a three-legged dog named Charlie (who Daniel, her cat, loathed). She’d met up with Frankie a few times for drinks, but they didn’t have much to talk about without the others there as a buffer. Sometimes Jeanand Nancy came out with iced tea and they would talk about politics while Charlie tried to dig around the rose bushes with her one front leg.

Britta thought about maybe… dating, or trying to, but it felt weird. Dating at 33 was like going thrift shopping for people. She wouldn’t mind just a few hookups, but that felt weird too. Jean and Nancy weren’t like the faceless landlords she’d had in the past and generally knew of her comings and goings. She didn’t want to parade guys in and out under their noses. She also couldn’t really stay over at someone’s house either, now that she had a dog. She couldn’t just fill the food bowl and then show up the next day, even though she’d put in a doggie door. Also, there was the fact that she technically hadn’t dated anybody since Troy and before that, it had been Jeff, and would she really even _know_ how to date somebody she hadn’t met at Greendale now?

She was out in the yard one afternoon, pretending to study while actually scrolling through Facebook, when Jeff texted her.

_Hey Perry. Drinks?_

Her veins felt like they were filled with lead. What was someone to supposed to do with that? What even was that? It was so Jeff, to fire off a nonchalant text like that with zero context about the outcome of his life-changing journey. It made her furious. It also made her honestly, authentically sad. Sad that despite everything, despite six years of dysfunctional but genuine friendship and, if she was being honest, a more than just friendship at certain points (he had _finally_ admitted they had dated earlier this year), he’d just up and left with zero contact.

It was the longest they’d ever gone without talking, save for that awful first summer. After they worked through that, the longest any stalemate had ever lasted was about a week. They definitely didn’t talk all the time now, sometimes it was just a meme or a link or even a thumbs up with a question mark followed by just a thumbs up. But other times, it was an hour-long call. _My class processed mock divorce papers today and I’ve been drinking and… I actually do want to talk more about my dad._ Or, _I’m honestly so glad my parents supported me, but I just need to tell someone about how much it sucked growing up with them._ Two hours. Goddamn it, they were friends. Best friends, even. He knew things about her that she had never told anybody else. He knew who she was and who she wanted to be. And it was a surreal, numbing feeling to realize there were still things, big things, about him that she hadn’t known.

She flipped over her phone, and threw the ball for Charlie, drafting an email to Abed in her head.

* * *

Britta was good at distracting herself when she used the appropriate strategies. So, the day after she had received and ignored Jeff’s emotionally jarring text, she signed up to be a mentor for Big Brothers Big Sisters. The idea of herself mentoring anyone was pretty hilarious, but she figured it would be good practice to see if she was actually cut out for social work. It was still a little surprising that they’d just assigned an at-risk youth to her so easily, considering she had to submit to a background check and she had lots of hiccups on her report from her anarchy days. But alas, here was, sitting across from a bitter 12 year-old at an Arby’s two weeks later.

Delaney didn’t talk much, but made it very clear from the get-go that her mom had signed her up for this stupid program. She had auburn red hair and wore a lot of bracelets. Besides knowing her name and age, Britta knew that she was also a vegetarian (which made Arby’s an ironic choice), and that was about it. She had no idea what to say to this kid and was getting annoyed because it was going so poorly. It was also really hot and the air-conditioning wasn’t working well. Britta’s thighs were sticking to the fake wooden seat and she really wanted to just go home, sit in front of the fan, and watch TLC.

They sat eating curly fries in silence. Britta had asked for two cups of cheese sauce for them to dip the fries in. Despite being rail thin, Delaney was going to town on the fries. Britta suspected that was so she wouldn’t have to talk to her.

“So… any plans for the rest of the summer?” Britta asked.

“Nope.”

“Looking forward to starting seventh grade?”

“Nope. Same school. Same stuff.”

Britta was burning through her questions fast. What on earth were you supposed to talk to tweens about? She was now way too old to know what was actually cool. Anything related to pop culture was out.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Delaney blurted out.

“Um... no,” Britta answered hesitantly. Wait, should she have lied? Would that have made her seem more appealing to this tiny cynic?

“You’re lying.”

Now Britta felt herself getting frustrated. Who was this kid? “I’m really not.”

“Uh huh, sure. I found you on Facebook. I checked it before my mom dropped me off.” Delaney pulled out her phone. Britta was not remotely prepared for this. This had been another one of her stupid ideas. She felt like she was the 12 year-old and Delaney was the adult.

“Look,” Delaney said. She had pulled up a tagged photo on Britta’s profile. It was from last year, when the group had thought Greendale was being sold to Subway. The day Jeff had asked her to marry him.

At the after party, after they had called it off, Abed had asked them to do fake engagement pictures. Just for fun, so he’d have some stills for his future work. Half-drunk, handsy, and still riding their earlier high, they’d happily obliged. Jeff had put his hands on her hips and she reached up to loop hers around his neck. She remembered them laughing and embracing sloppily. Abed had come over to reposition them. He had Jeff stand behind her and wrap his arms around her torso. He moved Britta’s hands so they were reaching up to hold Jeff’s arm’s.

“Now tell her something funny,” he had instructed. “Whisper it in her ear. I need genuine smiles.”

Britta remembered feeling Jeff’s stubble brush against her neck and cheek and how it made her skin buzz.

“I figured it out,” he whispered. “You…” she had almost shivered, waiting for the next words.

“...need to bang that kid’s mom.”

She had immediately burst into laughter at the memory, and Abed got the shot. It looked like an actual engagement photo, the bar’s tea lights twinkling warmly behind them, Jeff holding her with her hands over his arms and both of them laughing at nothing but their own happiness.

Delaney’s voice snapped her out of the memory. “So who’s that then?” she asked.

“He’s… uh, he’s just a friend,” Britta answered lamely. The words sounded fake, even to her.

“One of my best friends is a boy and we don’t take pictures like that,” Delaney said.

“Fair point,” Britta agreed. “It’s complicated, but he is _not_ my boyfriend. That’s an old picture.”

“What? This was only last year.”

“A lot can happen in a year.”

“Fair point,” Delaney fired back. “My mom left my dad this year. She thinks I need someone to talk to. That’s why I’m here.”

This is what it took to get her to open up? Seeing Britta squirm? “That… really sucks. I’m sorry.”

Delaney shrugged. “Could be worse. He didn’t abuse her or anything. Or me. They just yelled, like, all the time. One day my mom just told me she was just tired of yelling and that my dad and her should have figured out their shit before they got married. She actually said that, she swore in front of me.”

It took Britta few extra seconds to respond. “I guess that makes sense, if she thought things really weren’t going to get better.”

“Do things ever really get better though? I’m not convinced so far.”

Britta had to smile. “Take it from me, someone who’s finally kinda getting their life together like 10 years behind schedule: I think they can.”

* * *

By the start of August, Britta was getting used to her newfound lifestyle of complacency. She had a routine down. On her days off, she would spent a few hours studying. She would go to the library or a coffee shop on particularly hot days. She’d come home and walk Charlie. Sometimes she took her down by the river and Charlie paddled around with her three legs. She had lunch once a week with Jean and Nancy and saw Delaney every Monday. She had warmed up to Britta and they shared music now. It had been Britta’s idea. She asked Delaney to just text her one word about how she was feeling every Tuesday after their meetup. Delaney said fine, if Britta did the same. So now Britta received a playlist every week in her inbox, and on Sunday afternoons she would drop off an old-school mixtape on Delaney’s front steps.

For the first time in a while, she felt like everything might turn out okay. So when Shirley called and told her she was moving back, Britta was over the moon. She would only be a couple streets over. She had made it through almost a whole summer without messing anything (major) up, and how Shirley was coming home and would make sure it stayed that way.

The move happened fast. Shirley had gotten an offer to take over a profitable catering company. Her dad was doing well and she and Andre had worked through their rough patch. The previous owners wanted a quick handover for a seamless transition, keeping up summer profits. So she and Andre had bought a house, sight unseen, and that’s how Britta spent an entire day helping her rip off purple wallpaper and pull up shag carpeting a few weeks later.

“How are you feeling about your test?” Shirley asked. “Do you think you did well?”

Britta had taken the GRE the week before. It had been so long, the longest and hardest test she’d ever taken. She sat in front of a decrepit computer in Greendale’s library while Chang proctored the exam, making sure she didn’t cheat. Which she honestly would have considered if anyone but Chang had been watching her. After it was over, she thought about taking the long way back to her car to peek in Jeff’s office, but it was a fleeting thought.

“I don’t even know. There were so many questions. I think my essay went well,” she answered.

“Well, I’ll be praying for you,” Shirley said as Britta gave a half-smirk. “Have you heard from anyone else this summer? Annie only called me once, and Abed emails me every couple weeks.”

“Not really,” Britta said. “Abed emailed me a few times too, mostly just his clips. Troy sent me a postcard a few weeks ago. And I don’t think Annie gets much free time at FBI camp.”

Shirley’s face read, _and Jeff?_ “Been pretty busy with work and studying and mentoring, though,” Britta supplied.

“No word from Jeffrey? I thought you two would probably be spending a lot of time together?” Shirley asked, the question loaded with implication.

“He actually was out of town for awhile, I think. I haven’t seen him since May,” Britta answered honestly. She knew Shirley wasn’t buying that this was the whole story. She turned away and focused on ripping up a long strip of carpet so Shirley couldn’t see her face.

“Well, I’m sure he’s back now. Annie’s coming home next weekend. It’s so nice they decided to give it a try together.”

“What?” Britta yelped involuntarily.

“Gotcha.” _Dammit, Shirley._ “Let’s take a break.”

Britta followed her out to the front porch. They both sat down on the swing. Shirley poured a glass of lemonade and handed it to her. Britta wiped the sweat and stray hairs off her forehead. She didn’t know if she was sweating from the heat or the situation. Shirley still saw through her like glass.

“Annie called me the day after he showed up,” she started. “Nothing happened.”

Britta looked at her feet, feeling very small. She absolutely hated feeling this vulnerable, but if there was anyone who she could tolerate seeing her like this, it was Shirley. So she waited for her to continue. “She had to get special clearance to even leave the campus. They had dinner. She told him that she really needed the summer to herself and she valued their friendship too much to do anything stupid. She also said she would always feel a little subconscious about being with someone technically old enough to be her father.”

 _Smart girl,_ Britta thought to herself. She smiled involuntarily. Despite it all, she really did _like_ Annie. She had grown up a lot those last two years; she’d begun to see the world for what it really was, the ugly parts included. She was smart and she was fiery and she was self-reliant. She was a good friend and cared about people deeply. In those ways, she was a lot like Britta. Maybe that’s why sometimes they got along so well, and other times she wanted to rip her head off.

“And Jeffrey agreed, said that made sense. He apologized for making a scene. From what Annie told me, he came to the conclusion that he was scared.”

Britta looked up from her lemonade. “What on earth does Jeff have to be afraid of? Everything always works out for him.”

“Does it?” Shirley asked.

Britta shot her a look.

“Do you know why I forgave Andre? And why he forgave me?”

“Yes. Because he apologized,” Britta said, smirking. She knew there was more to it than that and was honestly happy that things had worked out for them the second time around. She now knew that Shirley had definitely known what she was doing.

“Yes, but also because I knew he was scared. He did too. He admitted it. Called himself a coward.”

“Okay, but, everybody gets scared sometimes. That doesn’t mean you need to cheat on your wife.” _Or fly across the country,_ she added in her head.

“That’s true. But love is scary, Britta. It’s a big, huge, scary thing. It makes you do really stupid, sometimes really terrible, things. I know because I was scared too and I’m _still_ scared some days and it’s been 15 years and three kids.”

Britta thought about what Shirley was implying with those statements. “Jeff does not love me,” she said in a small voice. She felt like she was underwater.

Shirley gathered her up in the kind of hug that only moms seem to know how to give. Britta let herself sort of deflate into Shirley’s embrace. Her thoughts were flying around at a million miles an hour, and she needed to forget about them before she got herself down a rabbit hole.

She was thinking about how if Jeff loved her, he would not have walked out on her after the transfer dance. He wouldn’t have agreed to call off their fling after the group had found about it. He wouldn’t have sat there silently while she wasted a year trying to turn Troy into something he wasn’t. He wouldn’t yell at her all the time, call her out on absolutely everything, and accuse her of trying to be someone else.

But then she thought of some of the other things he did. How she was always the first one he looked at when someone said something ridiculous, waiting for her reaction. How much they made each other laugh. How one weekend during the year of Jeff and Britta, she had gotten the stomach flu and he had fed her saltines and held her hand while they watched _Seinfeld_ reruns. How he had looked over at her in the car on Thanksgiving after telling off his dad. How, the last time they slept together after calling it off for real, that she jolted awake in the middle of the night because he was holding her so tightly. How, during all of those times, she had been more scared than she’d ever been in her entire life because everything felt so vast yet so compact _,_ like she could ball it up and hold it in her hands, but if she let go there would be an explosion.

“I’m sorry,” Shirley said, patting Britta’s back. “I know you don’t want to talk about this.”

Britta finally pulled away. “It’s okay. All that stuff is in the past. I’m fine. This summer has been really good for me.”

“I can see that. You’re sure, though? Everyone’s coming to our housewarming and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Oh, I’ve definitely been to worse parties. It’ll be fine.”

* * *

In a week, she’d be back at Greendale, and it still didn’t feel real. She had gotten a decent enough score on the GRE to get a spot in the social work program. She’d keep working weekend nights at the bar. And working part-time matching mentors and kids for Big Brothers Big Sisters, after Delaney had written to them and told them Britta was the coolest person she’d ever met. Her life held the semblance of being put together, all the right pieces in the right places. So she didn’t know why she still felt like she was waiting on something.

She felt anxious as she was getting ready for Shirley’s house party, and told herself to knock it off. She was going to see her friends, not going to engage further in her little soap opera with Jeff, and he would probably blow if off anyway. She thought of wearing a cute summer dress, to debut the new and improved and not-as-bitter Britta, but she didn’t own any cute summer dresses. So she wore a sleeveless black top with what she hoped would pass for dressy shorts and slipped her feet into her worn out Birkenstocks. Charlie eyed her sadly from her spot on the bed. _Why not? s_ he thought as she clipped the leash on and locked the front door.

She arrived five minutes later, and was comforted by the fact that it would only take her another five minutes to turn around walk home if she really needed to. But everything looked comfortable and easy. The backyard was covered in string lights and citronella torches. Andre was at the grill. Different kinds of patio chairs were spread around, and Shirley’s family and church friends filled most of them. She spotted Abed and Annie at the corner of the yard. Annie was waving furiously to her while Abed gave her a salute.

“Britt-a! You came! With your dog,” Shirley said, giving her a hug.

“Yeah, sorry. She looked really sad. If she acts up, I’ll walk her home. You know how close my place is.”

“No, no, that’s fine. Just keep her away from Aunt Doreen.”

“Will do,” Britta agreed as she headed in the direction of her friends.

“Hi, you guys!” she said, genuinely happy to see the group’s (minus Troy) youngest members.

“Britta, it’s so good to see you!” Annie said excitedly, giving her an enthusiastic hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. Not that I don’t want to hang out with Abed all night...”

“Who would?” Abed interjected quickly, giving Britta a quick hug. “This is really working,” he said, moving his hands to frame her. “It’s like a Britta spinoff. A lovable dog, a more receptive appearance...”

“Thanks, Abed,” she said as they all laughed. Annie filled them in on her internship. Because she’d done so well over the summer (and because she was Annie), she’d gotten a preliminary placement at their local field office in Denver, which she said was perfect, when you thought about it. Far away enough for it to feel new, close enough to come visit whenever she wanted to. Abed was back for a few weeks, to visit his dad, and hang out with Troy, who had showed up a few minutes after Britta. He had docked in San Diego and flown into Denver on his private jet. Troy would be meeting with the dean to discuss expanding Greendale and investing in the film studies program. Britta had gently suggested that maybe he research some charities that interested him the last time they’d talked, but it was a good start. She wouldn’t know how to spend over $10 million either.

Andre had rented some picnic tables and the four of them crowded together to eat. Charlie waited under the table while Troy slipped her pieces of his burger when he thought Britta wasn’t looking. Somewhere between her second veggie burger and third slice of watermelon, Jeff waltzed in. Everyone immediately jumped up to greet him. He was wearing gym shorts and a dark t-shirt like he’d just come from a run. Britta knew that was a lie and he just didn’t like being caught in anything other than his signature button down and $200 jeans and that wasn’t an option since it was 80 degrees outside.

Troy and Abed slid down to make room for Jeff. He didn’t offer much to the conversation, mostly just listened to the others’ chatter, which wasn’t like him. Britta felt his eyes on her several times. She waited for about half an hour before she got up and announced that she had to get going. Which was true. Tomorrow was the last Saturday before classes started and she’d promised Delaney a water park trip, and they were going early so she could get back in time for work.

“Hey, wait up!” she heard Jeff call as she latched the gate to the backyard. _Damn, so close._

“Hey, Winger,” she said, trying to keep it casual.

“You’re heading out already? It’s only 8:30.”

“Yeah, I have plans tomorrow. Have to get up kinda early.” She started walking toward the sidewalk, hoping he’d get the hint.

“Well, can I walk with you?” Britta guessed that was a rhetorical question since he had already fallen into place at her side. “Shirley told me you live right around the corner. I don’t know how you haven’t died of boredom out here. This is the actual suburbs.” _Wow, Shirley._

“Ha. Well, I got a great deal on rent. And I have a yard now. And a dog. So I’m living the American dream.”

“You’re missing the husband and 2.5 kids. And the dog’s missing a leg.”

“Kids and husband, not happening. She might get a prosthetic someday if I play my cards right.”

Jeff laughed. His voice got softer. “So hey, why didn’t you ever text me back? I wanted to catch up and see how everything was going.”

“Yeah, sorry. I just got really busy, you know, studying, working… oh, and I mentor a 12 year-old.”

“You? Mentor? A child?”

“I know, so hilarious. It was horrible at first, but it’s pretty fun now. She thinks I’m cool. I have an excuse to do things I’m way too old for. I’m taking her to the water park tomorrow.”

“Those are good points,” he said. “So you’re finally going to be kind of a therapist, huh? I heard the news from Duncan. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Feels kinda weird to actually have a life plan.”

“Well, I think you’re going to be really good at it.”

They were standing in front of her house now. She unclipped Charlie’s leash, who ran up to the top of the steps, waiting by the door. Britta could feel herself softening, even though she didn’t want to. She wanted to say goodnight, walk up the steps, and leave him outside wondering. But he was looking over at her and she could feel how much he wanted to reach over and close the space between them. Britta sat on the bottom step. Jeff sat down beside her. It had now been quiet way too long and they both started to talk at the same time.

“Sorry,” Jeff said. “So look, I just want to say sorry that I sprung all that stuff on you and then took off. I just couldn’t deal so I did what I always do and responded inappropriately.” He was so close. Their calves were touching. His face was half dark under the porch light. She could smell his cologne. Everything was buzzing.

She didn’t want to say _it’s okay_ because it still wasn’t okay, but the apology was a good start. “Thanks. I hope you… were able to deal with it.”

His eyes were on hers. Here it was again, that feeling where the enormity of everything was caught in this small space between them. Her anger had dissolved away like sugar in coffee and Britta hated herself for it.

“I did. I am. Everything mostly worked out,” he murmured.

He was looking at her mouth now.

She wanted him to kiss her, so badly.

He was gone and now he wasn’t and he was here and the crickets were chirping and the breeze was still warm and screw it, she wasn’t over him and she never really would be.

“What do you mean, mostly?” It came out in a whisper and he reached over and held her face with both hands, pulling her closer.

Then his lips her on hers and the question was answered. It was like no time had passed. They were good at this part. She opened her mouth and he didn’t miss a beat. Their tongues met, warm and wet. She moaned into his mouth. God, she missed this. His hands tangled in her hair and everything was happening, right now. She ran a hand over his jaw, down further, stopping at his chest.

She pulled away to look at him. She held his gaze, daring him. These were usually the times they both started retreating. Once the fire was out and everything was quiet. When thoughts starting coming back. The window was brief. It was there; she had to say it. She was back at the transfer dance. It sounded slightly different this time, but it was all truth: “I missed you.”

He smiled. “I missed you, too.”

She stood up to go inside. Jean and Nancy didn’t need a show out here and the mosquitoes were already buzzing around them. She offered her hand, a silent invitation. Jeff used it to pull himself up.

“Oh, wait. I have something for you. I found some stuff while I was packing. Let me grab it from the car,” he said, stepping back onto the sidewalk.

Britta scanned the street. She didn’t see his Lexus anywhere and surely he didn’t mean he was going to walk all the way to Shirley’s and back _right now?_

“Wait, what? Where’s your car? And how did you even know this was my street, creeper?” she called from the steps.

Jeff gave her a cheesy smile as he walked a few car lengths down. He stopped at an unremarkable sedan, unlocking it and grabbing a box from the backseat.

“Shirley may or may not have told me what street you live on. And I may or may not have parked on it so I’d have an excuse to walk back with you. Also, I traded in Paula.”

Britta was stunned. Jeff’s car was like, 75 percent of his self-made aesthetic. His last relic from his former life. He loved that thing. She also kind of loved it, admittedly. One time they’d gone to get ice cream a few towns over, and he let her drive on the way back. She took the long way, winding around curves and whizzing past cattle pastures while Jeff yelled at her from the passenger seat, his maple walnut cone splattering on his jeans.

“What? Why? Poor Paula.”

“Downsizing now that I’m on a teacher’s salary for the foreseeable future. I moved too, at the beginning of the month.”

Jeez, they don’t talk for a few months and Jeff totally reinvents himself. He also loved that apartment. She could openly admit she also loved it. Central air, stainless steel, that patio, that master bedroom. “Where? You loved your place.”

“Not far from where you used to be, actually. I’m saving a lot,” he said, coming back to the steps. With Britta standing two steps up, the height difference had almost been neutralized. She had a direct view of his face, and there was definitely something else he wanted to tell her but was going to make her pry it out.

“That’s a lot of change.”

“I thought we agreed change is good, per our last conversation,” he said sarcastically, tucking the box under one arm so he could snake his other around her waist.

“Ha, too soon. Seriously, what’s with the downgrade? Never thought I’d catch you in a… what’s that, a Toyota?”

“I told you. Teaching doesn’t pay like lawyer-ing,” Jeff said, kissing her neck. She fidgeted, trying to stay focused. “And, my dad needed to borrow some money. Not a big deal.”

Now she really was focused. “You lent money to your dad?”

Jeff sighed and put the box down. “Yeah. But it’s not a big deal. He was behind on some taxes. We settled it down but he had to pay up or was looking at some time in the big house.”

“How much?”

“$8,000.”

Britta didn’t know if she was more shocked at the fact that Jeff had handed over that much money so easily, or the fact that he _had_ that much money saved up. That was total life savings kind of money. 

“Jesus Christ, Jeff. That is a lot of money to shell out to the guy who didn’t even send you a Christmas card last year.”

“It’s fine, he’ll pay me back when he can.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay about it? I mean, has he even thanked you? Offered to give up his condo so you didn’t have to sell your car?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it right now. We can just pick up where we left off,” he dismissed, picking up the box again and stepping around her to walk upstairs.

Britta turned around to follow him. “I think we should. I’m just worried that you-”

They were right outside her door now. He whirled around to face her. “What part of ‘I don’t wan’t to talk about it’ didn’t you get?”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You always do this, you always try to fix me, make me deal with my shit even when I tell you I don’t want to.” Charlie had popped up from her spot on the doormat, and had the hair raised on the back of her neck. She gave a low growl in Jeff’s direction.

“It’s called caring.”

“No, it’s called manipulation! Stop trying to make me your project,” he yelled.

“I’m not trying to do anything. I’m trying to have a goddamn conversation with you but I guess that’s one thing that still hasn’t changed.”

“You know what, fuck it. Save it for your clients. You know what I think? You’re so screwed up yourself, you think you’ll feel better if you’re around people screwed up worse.”

He stormed down the steps. Charlie was barking fiercely by this point and ramped it up to hyperdrive as Jeff slammed his car door and drove off. Britta dragged her inside. Jean and Nancy were probably ready to call the cops. She sat on the couch, numb. After about 20 minutes, she realized the box was still sitting outside. She got up to bring it in, too far gone to care what fresh hell the contents might stir up.

She looked inside, finding a cat mug Jeff had given her a few years ago, a few succulents on the verge of death, a framed Led Zeppelin album that used to hang in his bedroom she’d always loved, and a pair of her pajamas. There was also a note.

_This mug belongs with you. So do these plants. They’re hanging on but have been pretty miserable since you stopped coming over – maybe you can revive them? I’d love to see how Zeppelin looks above your bed. And here’s your pajamas – only returning them because I kept my favorites and you have a smaller drawer here._

* * *

Britta went through the necessary motions to get through the next day. She woke up (well, got up, she didn’t really sleep), got dressed, dropped Charlie off next door with Jean and Nancy, then headed to Delaney’s house to pick her up. For her sake, Britta attempted to pretend that nothing was wrong, but Delaney was too smart for that. She got it out of Britta within the first five minutes of the car ride, and declared that she would be handling the logistics of the day and all Britta had to do was come along for the ride, promising her that she would feel better by the end of the day.

To her credit, Britta actually did feel markedly better after floating down the lazy river and gouging herself on fried dough with her 12 year-old counterpart. But when it was time to drop Delaney off, she felt herself sliding back into oblivion. Luckily, she didn’t have any time to indulge herself in her brooding. She showered and changed as was out the door to the bar, where people were drowning their end of summer sorrows with drink after drink.

By the time she got home at one in the morning, she was way too tired to waste time on anything but kicking off her shoes, running a wet wipe over her face, and slipping on a t-shirt. She collapsed into bed, succumbing to sleep.

It was thundering when Britta woke up sometime the next morning. Sunday morning, she realized after a moment. 48 hours until she’d be a student for the sixth year in a row. She looked up at the rain falling on the skylight. She reached over for her glasses. 9:12. Still early. Too early. A whole day to fill up.

Charlie thumped her tail at the end of the bed. Daniel glared at her through his one eye.

“Hi,” Britta said. Charlie rested her head on her knee. At least she still had two friends in this town. Speaking of, she’d definitely be calling Shirley later. She sighed, throwing on some shorts and padding over to the back door to let the dog out. She watched absentmindedly; Charlie was pretty good about running right back up when she was finished.

Except now she was barking her head off and it was Sunday morning and she really didn’t need to get kicked out of this apartment at this particular point in her life.

“Dammit,” Britta said, grabbing a windbreaker and stuffing her feet into the closest pair of boots.

“Come on, knock it off,” she called. Charlie was in the front corner of the yard, barking at something near the street. It was pouring. Everything was muddy. Britta did not have the energy for this and just wanted to get back inside.

“Stop it,” Britta hissed, stomping over to grab the dog by the collar. Then she saw Jeff, fiddling with something on her front steps. He was wearing running clothes again, and was soaking wet. He looked ridiculous.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Oh, hey… just leaving this. Didn’t want it to get wet.”

Britta unlocked the gate, stepping out of the yard onto the sidewalk. “Well, I’m heading in. I’ll just bring it up now.”

Jeff looked like a spooked horse. He clearly had meant for her to find this after he’d left. He handed her a plastic bag. Britta was wary, after his last gift. She peered inside, where a mixtape rested on top of a box of her favorite donuts.

She looked up at Jeff wordlessly.

“I didn’t know what to say. A very wise 12-year old suggested I try food and music.”

“How did you…?”

“She sent me some really angry messages on Facebook. Told me I was pathetic and a seven at best.”

Britta half-smiled, rain dripping down from her hood.

“Britta, I’m sorry. You’re right. I need to figure out this stuff with my dad. I know that. I just…”

He looked at her, exasperated.

“You’re scared,” she finished.

“Yes. And I’m sorry I said what I said. You aren’t screwed up.”

“Well, I am, but that’s nice of you to say.”

“Stop it. I also wanted to say I know you aren’t trying to fix me. You’re just trying to help me. Like always.”

“Of course. That’s what friends do.”

“We do a lot of things that friends don’t do.”

“Are we finally going to have this conversation?”

“Yeah, but let me go first or I’m gonna throw up.” Britta looked at him. “I have been lying to you forever.”

“Great.”

“No, I mean, I didn’t want to stop dating when everyone found out. Yes, that was dating. And I did care whenever you were with someone else. A lot.”

Britta felt like she was watching someone else live through this moment. Was this how he felt after she made her big proclamation at that stupid dance? “Well, I...” she started.

“Not done,” he cut her off. “All this… whatever, this is me. Not reacting appropriately. Pissing you off, pretending not to care, chasing after Annie. Because, yeah, I’m scared. Because it’s been six years, Britta. Six. Years. And all I still think about is you.”

There was a lump the size of Texas in Britta’s throat and she was worried she might choke if she tried to swallow it.

“Say something,” Jeff pleaded, searching her face. Britta just blinked, trying to process what this meant.

“I’m difficult,” she finally said.

“Me, too.” He stepped closer.

“I tend to mess things up.”

“Same here.”

“I care about you, a lot. I don’t want to mess this up,” she supplied. It was true. If this tanked, she would not recover well.

“Well, the great thing about kicking this thing around for so long is that we already know all the worst things about each other,” Jeff said. The rain had let up, but was still pelting down. He kind of squinted, trying to stop it from running into his eyes.

That was true. All the monsters were already out of the closet. There was nothing left but some dusty spiderwebs.

Britta felt a slow smile spread over her face. “I want those pajamas back.”

Jeff closed the remaining space between them in one stride. They flew up the stairs, leaving the door open for the dog.

They were kicking off shoes and boots and leaving puddles on the floor. Britta peeled off his saturated t-shirt and he tugged her shorts off in one move. Without her shoes on, Britta was on the very edge of her tiptoes to reach his face, stubble brushing her palms. His hands slipped under her pajama shirt, sweeping over bare skin. She shuddered and pulled him closer. Jeff picked her up and she moaned as he walked them backwards toward her bed. Britta suddenly wished she didn’t have the bagel sheets on there that were a gag gift from Abed last Christmas.

“What the hell are these?” Jeff said, trying and failing to hold back his laugh as he set her down and tossed her shirt aside.

“Shut up, I lived in New York,” she joked, pulling him down on top of her, relishing the way their bodies still fit together as if no time had passed.

“You are ridiculous,” he breathed, pulling away. He appraised her for a moment before kissing her ear. “And beautiful.”

Britta felt warmth radiate from her scalp to the soles of her feet. She’d had enough talking. “Standard number five?” she suggested.

“No, make it a Sunday number three.”

* * *

A routine was established. He mostly came to her place, since his was so sad and dingy. Three days a week became five, and then seven, and then one day, he just stayed. He was walking Charlie in the mornings and cleaning the shower and leaving _New Yorker_ articles in the mailbox for Jean and Nancy. She was buying his shampoo at the store and packing him lunches and holding his hand under the table during awkward lunches with his dad. They spent evenings side by side on the couch, her writing papers and him grading them. Sometimes she took sips of his scotch and they abandoned the couch in lieu of the bed. It was domestic as hell. Britta didn’t hate it. Jeff didn’t seem to, either.

About a year in, there was a conversation. There was agreement; there was fear. There was a ring. There was the deconstruction of certain institutions. And there were questions, but there was only one that didn’t have a solid answer: why not this time?


End file.
